


Hotlines

by writingstylesx



Category: One Direction, niall horan - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:13:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingstylesx/pseuds/writingstylesx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thought she will remain miserable after she got out of a long relationship. However, she found someone who talked to her, and gave her a new take on everything around her. Problem is: she doesn't know the guy. Will she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hotlines

If there was one thing I was sure I couldn’t do that night, and the nights that preceded before it, it was to sleep. Believe me, I tried. But every time I did, I just end up tossing and turning on my bed to find a comfortable position. Five years of fooling and playing make-believe with each other, and it all boiled down to this one depressing moment. It is all gone. Suddenly, the images of him kissing her, her fingers caressing the spots in his body only I used to touch, the mere thought of them being together – these images filled my mind in a haunting manner that I’d rather stay awake than sleep and see all these things. I wanted to try and forget everything. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even bring myself to say, “Stop sulking around. Just fucking move on.”  
I want to forget.  
I need to forget  
At that point in my life, it felt like there were only two things that I could ever do: one was to cry and let everything out, two is to drink all the pain away. To numb and try to make myself as hard as a stone, even just for a few god-forsaken hours.  
I used to not like the taste of alcohol, and drinking it for the past couple of weeks sure as hell did not make me like it either. But the feeling of the liquid burning its way down my throat, numbing me from everything…I realised that it was better to feel nothing than feel something that will make me more miserable than I already ever was.  
I was a negatively changed person. And this change ruined everything. From my relationships, to my academics, to my family. I literally have been shutting everything out, and I felt like such an emo for even thinking of the idea of locking myself in my room forever.  
I still functioned like a student, going to class and doing (or at least trying to do) shit that a student must do. However, I think I needed to start getting my shit together because all my grades were going downhill – fast enough to get my professors worrying. You see, I’m not really the best in the class, but my performance was fairly well that seeing something failing causes them to get the least bit worried.  
I stumbled into my dorm one night after a drinking session with myself. I was drunk, nonetheless, but my eyes still managed to catch the folded piece of paper that seemed to have been slipped by someone through the tiny little gap between the door and the floor. With curiosity coursing through me, I picked it up and unfolded it in a careless manner. The irrational part of my brain thought that maybe – just maybe – it was him. That he was going to want to meet up with me and apologize…tell me that he loves me and I was the only one. But seriously, that was one big fucked up assumption.  
There wasn’t any sappy apologies written on the paper. Instead, there was a cellphone number and the words “If you need a friend, you could call me” written in a messy unfamiliar handwriting. Yeap. Definitely not him.  
I decided to not call whoever the owner of the number was. After all, I didn’t know him. He might be a stalker who is looking for inside information so he could rape or kill me. Creep. Besides, who needs a friend right now? I got my trusty bottle of beer. Snorts. Who am I even fooling? I kept the piece of paper inside my sock drawer and left it there to be forgotten.  
It was only on Friday the week after that my eyes laid on it again. I came home drunk (again!) and was going to search for a sock to sleep in with when I found the folded paper. Before I knew it, I was picking it up and dialing the numbers on my phone. My vision was blurry and my head was spinning but I pushed the sensations out and focused on talking to whoever was going to pick up. Blame it on the alcohol.  
“Hello?” A voice with an accent I’m not all too familiar with said. We live in America. Hearing an accent that’s not American in nature is weird. His voice was raspy and unfamiliar, and I wanted to know suddenly why he gave me, a stranger, his number.  
“Hey…” I trailed, unsure of what I should be saying next “I…you gave me your number the other night,” I swung my leg up on the bed and folded it against my chest, my fingers massaging my temple to ease the throbbing.  
There was silence for a moment, and I started to think whether or not he was sure that he gave his number to me, or everything was just some kind of prank. It was only after a few beats that he seemed to snap out of his daze, because he said, “Oh, right! Right. Yes. I did that.”  
“I want to know why and how you knew about my room…why you gave me your number. ‘Cause I have to admit that that’s just really creepy and – I’m sorry. I’m talking too much, yes?” Again, blame it on the alcohol. When I’m drunk, my mouth’s got no filter and I just say whatever my mind thought of.  
Instead of hearing him feel angry because of how mad I sounded, he chuckled. A deep and raspy one. I furrowed my brows, causing my head to throb even harder. “No. it’s okay. I was actually thinking when you were gonna call.”  
I groaned, mostly because of my headache. “I didn’t have a plan to, you know. But I was drinking and I was going to find some socks and then I found your note. I thought, why the hell not? You might be a serial killer for all I know.” I pressed the phone tighter against my ear as I sank on the bed, my head resting against the headboard. “So are you going to tell me who you are?”  
He sighed from the other end of the line. “Okay. But before I tell you my name, I’d like to assure you that I’m a good person. I’m not a creep, nor am I a serial killer. I could be your friend…if only you would allow me.”  
I shouldn't believe him. I shouldn’t even trust him. But in some twisted way, I did. There was no harm in talking to someone. It was nice to talk to him, knowing that he didn't know me that much. Judgements are much subtle than they used to be when you know the other person. “What should I call you?” I asked again.  
"James," he said after a moment’s pause. "Call me James."  
"James," I repeated. His name was not unique, but it still sounded fresh and foreign coming out of my mouth. “I’m –“  
"Denise," he said, cutting me off.  
I smiled, even if he couldn't see it. "I thought you weren't a creep."  
He chuckled, the kind that's contagious that you cannot help but laugh with him. His chuckle sounded sincere, beautiful even. "I'm not a creep. I know you, and you probably do know me. We just don't really converse and all."  
"I don't know any James in any of my classes," I trailed, trying to recall and remember the names of the people in my class despite of the pain I was having just by thinking.  
When he spoke again, I swore I could almost hear a smile in his voice. "You probably  
do. You are just too busy at looking at only one person to even notice that there are a lot of people around you." I fell quiet after that, just pressing the phone tighter against my ear, waiting for him to say something. "How are you doing, really?" When I didn't answer again, he said in a low and quiet voice, "Listen, you probably don't know me, but you could trust me. And trust me when I say that I'm here to listen."  
I thought about his words for a moment. I wanted to share to him, because if I don't then to whom will I share these feelings. I could go crazy by merely keeping my baggage to myself. James sounded sincere, but I wasn't ready to share. Not now. I will, but not now. "I'm not ready yet."  
For a moment, he was quiet, then he said, "I understand. Maybe we could just talk about something else? Do you still want to talk?"  
"Yeah, I do. I drank a bit too much tonight and I don't want to go to bed or anything. Just keep talking," my words slurred out of my mouth and I thought I heard him chuckle. Little did I know, the conversation would extend until the kind of time that my parents would probably say, “It’s too early.”  
For the next couple of days, James had been my constant phone pal. At night, he would call, or sometimes I would, and we would talk about our day, and everything in between. It had gotten to the point when not a day would pass without speaking to each other. There had been this "attachment" between us even if we never really got to have a physical contact. Hell, I didn't even know what he looked like. What was important is that we got a friend in each other, and we felt comfortable talking about things.  
"I'm ready," I said, settling down on the floor with my back resting on the foot of my bed.  
"Ready for what?" He asked.  
I pursed my lips before saying, "You told me you'd wait for me to tell about...my issues."  
"Yeah...I did," he trailed. "So are you ready now?"  
I shrugged, even if he couldn't see it. "Yeah. I think I am."  
And I was. Somehow, I managed to tell him about everything that had happened. The words slipped out of my mouth as if James was an old friend, as if I have already known  
him for so long that I entrusted my life story to him. I never told anyone about my personal issues, I have never been comfortable enough, afraid that no one would even care. But James did. He listened to me, and that was enough. When I finished telling him my bullshit love affair, I took a deep breath and pursed my lips to try and stop it from trembling. Recalling everything reminded me of the pain, but it was much lesser than what I felt the first time I found out about it. Sniffing, I told James, "There's my story. Ugh, fuck. It's annoying, huh? I don't know why I'm still emotional."  
"How are you doing now?" He asked, his voice low and quiet.  
"I guess...the pain is less now than it used to be before. The alcohol somehow numbed the pain."  
"You know it's not going to give you help, right? You drink, you get numb for a while, then when you start to feel again, it's the same old painful feeling."  
I nodded, "I stopped, you know?"  
"Stopped what?"  
"Stopped drinking alcohol. Since I started talking to you, the urge to drink just got less and less. And now I guess I'm trying to stay sober for as long as could."  
"I'm glad I helped," he said, and though I never saw him before, I think I heard him smile. "That was the goal in the first place, anyway."  
I pursed my lips, trying to phrase my next sentence in my mind. "I wish I could see you...meet you...thank you…because you sound so...different. You don't know me, but here you are, listening to me rant about everything that's wrong in my life."  
“Maybe when the timing is right,” he said in a hushed tone.  
I nodded, “Yeah. Maybe when the timing is right.”  
“Denise?” He asked after another pause. “Can I tell you something?” He took my silence as a yes. “I didn't just randomly slip my number in your room. I wanted to talk to you and that was the only rational thing I have thought of. I’m sorry if you found that scary or something…” Another pause. “I like you. But I get it if you don’t feel the same way. If the most you could offer me right now or ever is friendship. I really do.”  
“James,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m not mad. In fact I’m thankful that you’re here. Lord knows I probably would be locked in a cell right now for being drunk and bashing someone’s head or something.”  
He laughed. God, I grew fondness about his laugh.  
“But seriously though. Thank you, James.”  
“Thank you. For everything,” he countered.  
The conversations never really stopped. James and I didn't pass a day without talking to each other. The conversation went from something as simple as a "How was your day?" to something as deep as the relationships and family matters. There wasn't an awkward feeling anymore. We were just like as if we were two friends who are far away from each other, talking as a means to get in touch with the other. Only we haven't seen each other yet. I really hope we would.  
"Finally! You got out of your cocoon!" My friend, Kyle, said as we pushed our cart down the grocery aisle. It was the first time I actually hung out with her in weeks. For the past few ones, I never really thought about going out anyway. I didn't feel like I had the need to.  
"Yeah, well...It's been a while since I last saw 'the light'," I chuckled, drawing quotation marks in the air with my fingers.  
"What snapped you out of your hiatus?"  
I shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe I just thought it gets tiring to sulk around at home the whole day everyday. I've moved on and I think that's what I needed to do, right?"  
She cocked her eyebrow at me, obviously not believing my statement. I heaved a sigh and gave her a reassuring smile. "Okay, maybe not completely. But I've been trying. And I may not have moved on fully, but I'm getting there."  
"Good," she grinned. "You don't deserve the asshole anyway."  
"Please stop talking about him," I said to which she nodded her head, going back to focusing on what to buy and tossing item after item in our trolley.  
My phone began to ring scandalously and I immediately fished it out from my pocket. I didn't even need to look at the screen to know who it was. "Hello, James!" I said, a little bit too cheerfully. Kyle stopped walking to look at me with a suspicious smile.  
"Hello, Nicole," he said, and I heard him chuckle from the other end of the line. "Why so cheery? What's up?  
"Nothing," I chuckled. "I'm actually out right now."  
Who's that? Kyle mouthed at me. I waved my index finger at her, telling her to shut up for a moment. She nodded and pursed her lips, taking over the pushing of our trolley along the aisle.  
"Me too," he said. "I'm shopping for groceries. Running out of food in the dorm..."  
"Yeah. Same," I murmured. I began to grab pack after pack of chips and dump them in my trolley, ignoring the fact that it's starting to get piled on by stuff, some I needed badly, some not so much. "Wait, I'm at the grocery too!" My voice undeniably got more excited and I tried to feign it by diverting my attention to the shelves. Kyle still noticed this because she tilted her head towards me, a smile spread on her face. I gave her a warning look and shook my head. "What grocery store are you in 'cos like maybe we could --"  
Crash! The trolley I was pushing crashed into another one as I was taking a turn towards the next aisle. I slammed my belly on the handle, while Kyle slammed on my back, causing me to stagger forward. "What the fuck?!" I still managed to say, even with my phone pressed against my ear.  
"Shit! I'm sorry, crap. Ugh," a familiar voice said. "Are you hurt? Did I hit anything?" My eyebrows furrowed as soon as I heard the voice. What was weird was that I heard it differently. One was through my phone. The other was through the voice of the man who hit me. I looked up from my hands and found a very familiar-looking stood right in front of me. He had blonde hair with streaks of brown near the roots. His blue eyes were trained on mine, his mouth agape. He was also holding a phone against his ear although he wasn't talking at all. He looked like someone from my class. I just didn't know what his name was. I never really got to talk to him, but he sure did attract my attention before. He was cute, for heaven's sake!  
"Speak again," I said to my phone.  
"Okay," James said. The man in front of me said.  
That was when it hit me. "James?" I asked. I never really got to see James' face before but I never expected that he was just right there in front of me all along! He was in all of my classes! He was taking the same majors as I was. How could I have been so stupid?!  
"Yes," he said, hanging up his phone to step forward, towards me.  
"Your name's not James...at least not in class," I began to say.  
He shrugged before smiling, a beautiful crooked one. His smile made my knees go  
weak. "Yeah...I'm Niall James Horan..."  
“You didn’t have an accent at class,” I noted.  
“Camouflage. Irish accent is hard to understand by non-Irish people after all.”  
When I didn't reply, he said, "I'm sorry. Shall we start all over again?" He extended a hand at me, before I saw the corners of his eyes crinkle from smiling. "I'm Niall. It's nice to finally meet you."  
A smile was undoubtedly creeping its way on my cheek, and I could feel the blood rising too. “I’m –“ I began to say. Our hands touched, slightly shaking it formally. His hands were sweaty. Or was it my hands that were sweaty? God, I don’t know.  
“Denise,” he finished for me, just like how he said it when I first tried to introduce myself. “I’m so glad we finally met.”


End file.
